


In the Madness and Soil (of That Sad Earthly Scene)

by KatiMae



Series: Deathless Death, Good God(s) [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, Companion Piece, Dark God Ryan Haywood, Hurt No Comfort, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry Ryan, M/M, Underworld, color symbolism, poetic-ish, that one ends happy, unless you read the original fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-05 13:31:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10309154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatiMae/pseuds/KatiMae
Summary: A small remark on Ryan’s time under the vines in the Underworld.Kind of an expansion to what our godling was feeling under the vines and how he was internally affected by losing Gavin and his place on Earth.Very sad?  I'm sorry about that.Companion to Turning Gold.Enjoy,- Kat <3





	

**Author's Note:**

> For my friend Ez (@twixle on tumblr), he is honestly the worst and constantly feeds my angst addiction (that enabler). So you can thank him for getting me so good at making myself and others cry.  
> -Kat

         Cold.  Penetrating and cruel, through his skin like a knife into mere paper.  That’s all he can feel, lying under the dark soil that rests soft on his skin.  The dark soil he had taken refuge in from the pains he had left above.

         Cold, and lonely.  He is alone here- not quite alone, the plants are with him, their roots curling around his arms and legs, his waist, neck.  They held him as chains, kept his promise to remain when he grew too weak with sentiment for the Earth and all its splendor.

         He distantly remembers warmth.  The kind feeling of his, now abandoned, flesh and blood form smile.  The vibrations of a deep laugh that filled his chest until their joyous escape.  

         How it came in heated touches, loud, kind voices, searing kisses.  In the press of a body against his, two hearts in tandem and partnership, a give and take rhythmed to their beating.  

         He remembers how the new sense of belonging and brotherhood spread through his body like a flame through gasoline.  How love had grown from a spark to a raging inferno that consumed him with every touch, kiss, meeting of gazes.  Was this lost to him?

         He had not thought Persephone would be a problem.  How naive he had been, in those days before the boy entranced him.  Legends and myths were easily laughed at when you were not suffering their narratives.  His springtime had sprouted golden in his chest and stayed until winter- his own foolish doing- had driven it all away.  What had he done?

         How green eyes burned his skin to charcoal and his bones to embers.  How it hurt, but in the most wonderful kind of way.  He tries now, to remember that warmth, as he lay in the cold, dark earth of his realm.  Somehow, he felt the biting chill in ten fold despite his desperately conjured memories.  Would his warmth ever return?

         He opened his eyes in the darkness, and was met with the color he had once so loved- silver.  He had been so proud to craft the heavens with a bright light, to give stories to the night sky.  Now it broke him, his silver-leaved trees, gleaming moon, glittering stars.  

         All he could think was that gold was so much more beautiful. 

         After all, to gold silver will always be second best.  And what did he have now, then?  Not second, no.  It ached much too horridly.  He had simply lost that precious metal.

         Gold: his Midas, his love, Gavin.  How beautifully that gaudy metal rested on his tanned skin.  How he seemed to outshine the very sun with his smile.  How his green eyes shone and changed in the lights of the city at night.  His laugh a jeweled bell to ring out through the godling’s memory for an eternity now.  

         That boy who had brought him springtime, who had taught him himself and his body in the summer.  Whose love had begun to wilt with the fall.  And now, here he had left Ryan to bury himself come winter.  And the great joke of it: the cold was the godling’s own damn fault.

         He was a creature of the ice, the freeze that sought to kill any beauty in the world.  That sought to bury the world below the ground and blanket the graves in snow.  What had he done?

                                                               The god wished for golden warmth, but got only cool silver in return.


End file.
